Knackered

Good evening/week everyone. I’ve been sleeping like a dead man for the past twelve hours and still counting. I’m trying to get this out so I can get back to sleep. Been too tired to even eat anything for fear that there might be grease in the food. No, there’s no need to freak out on my statement; it’s just the way I usually feel the morning after a good night’s clubbing except that I didn’t go clubbing last night; I went drinking. I’d finished a gruelling fortnight of working on a set somewhere towards Epe in Lagos, sleeping an approximately four hours every night. You can then imagine the relief we, my colleagues and I, felt when it was finally a wrap. We headed straight for the bar, especially since the ever attendant Lagos rush hour traffic was still firmly in place even though it was ten thirty pm. I ordered the very thing I had been craving – an ice cold Odeku (the formidable Nigerian Guinness stout) and thoroughly relished the best part of any beer; the very first draught that opens up the parched throat like a virgin maid to her lover, the bubbly icicles coursing through the dry bed spreading its goodwill through my veins as it went. Bliss! The rest was just routine; drinking, flirting, talking about any and everything.

It’s the second day of writing this post, eighty thirty am to be exact. Had to stay up for most of the night with Frieda who’s down with a very bad cold; the silly stubborn girl just won’t take her medication and it’s affecting her studies. It is mostly my fault though – this is so galling, I always seem to be the one at fault. The next time it’s yours Frieda, I’m broadcasting it to the whole world! – and anytime she’s upset with me or anxious about me, she forgets everything else and all I need to do is just calm her down, talk it over and she’s bright as rain. But oh, what a talk that is. It goes on for hours and hours and sometimes I just want to tell her to leave me alone to sleep until I remember that one does not go chasing after rats when ones house is on fire. The end result is always worth the labour when we start laughing and joking again and she starts fussing over me again. I guess you guys would have figured out how spoilt a brat I am, one who loves attention from the ones he trusts. Anyway, enough of this sappy stuff, where was I?

I’m still feeling queasy after the other night’s binge; I have been drinking water like sand even after downing almost five litres of water. I can’t stand the sight of food for fear that there might be oil in it and still don’t feel hungry after one and a half days of not eating. I have to go out for a couple of meetings and hopefully I’ll manage to pick up my beloved Cotonou pineapples and gorge myself silly with them. And then my piece de resistance, my fave fruit, agbalumo/ udala, is in season again! The unfortunate thing is, it is a pain to buy. This is because it takes an expert to spot the few ripe sweet ones from the sour vast majority. Buy the wrong one and your mouth will screw like a light bulb on account of its sourness but the sweet ones are really rewarding. Enter stage right my wonderful neighbour Osamede who has graciously opted to buy them for me. I think I’m going to have a wonderful day today when I get back. I’ll sleep, surrounded by my little ones, my agbalumos, wake up, go to the loo, eat two, watch a movie halfway, pause it, sleep again, wake up again, watch the rest of the movie, eat a pineapple and five more agbalumos then – I think you get the message. I’m off to the shower so I can get out and be done for the day and finally rub my hands with glee. Have a great week everybody and apologies for the late post. Much love to y’all!